Jon(athan)

This is 7 Melinda Crescent, the home of Jonathan (Jon). I cannot show you his picture or mention his current last-name, as Jon is buried deep in the witness protection program of a friendly neighboring country with vast resources and a long reach. To supplement his already generous allowance and for lack of other creative activity, Jon started making Salvadoran Pupusas, marketed under the brand name Giambasi J Pupusas. To his considerable surprise they sold extremely well in the ethnic stores of South-Central Scarborough. Their taste, texture and flavour of the secret ingredient (nut-meg) propelled them to the top of best sellers (sold out every day before 11:00 AM). Demand went through the roof and clients pressed Jon to expand and increase output even offering to invest in Giambasi J, but Jon, a proud artisan, insisted in limiting production to only as many as he could make perfectly as well as keeping the price at a decently affordable level. So there he lives and works with Betty and Beau (his two spoiled and mean-spirited Yorkshire Terriers) and mother ... Jon's mother not that of the Yorkies. 

Glora Wachsman

It is a well-known fact that only three good things ever came from Burgundy: Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and Glorian Wachsman (seen here walking her dog Nina on Rue des Écoles, in the sixième). Gloria told me, recently playing Toronto's Rex Club, that she is a direct descendedent of La Maison de Valois-Bourgogne and her birth name is Astrid Sophie Victoria Isabelle Chatelle Ines Aveline de Valois. She was born in Beaune in 1987 where sh was baptized at the Collegiate Church of Notre Dame. As a child, she was bouncy, wilful and a rebel in the spirit of the ancient dukes. She ran away from home when she was fourteen, got caught but ran away again at fifteen. She met Francis (Paco) Jones who taught her to play the tenor saxophone and the flute and gave her cocaine. She changed her name to Gloria Wachsman and had their daughter Pica. While playing in clubs, a scout for Dexter Music spotted her and she signed with  the label. Her first album brought some money and some gigs but the second album went platinum. Gloria cleaned up (Paco had overdosed and died by then) and moved with Pica into a nice apartment at Rue Aubriot №6, in the quatrième (her last-name helped). It is conveniently just across from the L'Ecole Française de Yoga where both are permanent members.

A while ago, a lawyer representing a guy with the impressive name of Karl Thomas Robert Maria Franziskus Georg Bahnam von Habsburg, apparently an extremely distant cousin, came to see her and, notwithstanding Salic Law and Agnatic Succession Rules, gave her a stack of documents which Gloria stuffed in a drawer but never bothered to read. One late night, last March, when she came home from playing at the New Morning on Rue des Petites Écuries, in the dixième, Pica (now sixteen) addressed her as Madam la Comtesse and said they own a castle with vineyard near Auxerre. Gloria told her to go back to sleep and went to take a shower.

Theo Balș

This is Theo Balș, most evenings will find him leaning against the handrail at the "The Ghost", a well-known downtown club. Theo is not at all shy and wouldn't have objected to a full frontal shot, but I thought "better not" and show here his best assets (legs and feet). At the club he seeks out a medical person (doctor or nurse) whose partner is an artist (preferably visual arts). Due to the enormous natural charm and innate and complete ruthlessness of the narcissistic psychopath that he is, the courtship is always short and successful and the finale is most violent (although never fatal). Theo takes all or some of the art that the victims own and threatens to come back and cut off their thumbs if they even think of saying anything to anyone. Apparently, none of the prey fought back and, truly, nobody ever knew or suspected. I wouldn't have either if not, one fateful evening, invited to see additions to his collection, hadn't I brought a bottle of Doppel Kümmel. Little did I know, that it had a devastating effect, it was like Theo's Kryptonite: he was totally drunk at the second sip (he, otherwise, could drink any quantity of anything else and remain completely sober). It took him more than two hours to sob and blabber his way through the story of all his deeds; he didn't even notice when I switched my phone to record it. 

I left at about three AM and went to nearest the police station where I played his confession to an astonished and suddenly wide awake duty detective. During the next days, police went to Theo's marks asking them to file complaints, but  all of them stated that he was their most excellent dear friend and they gifted him the art as a token of their undying love and affection. Theo never learned of my secret treason and unsuccessful attempt at justice, so we still smile and nod when we see each other at "The Ghost" or the Yoga studio where we first met.

Scene#19

Petra wore a short, light blue skirt and a low-cut, tight navy top. She walked up the ramp setting firmly one foot directly in front of the other as she was taught at modelling. Leslie was a little further behind her and was watching fascinated with and impish grin and whistling appreciatively. Petra turned: "What?" to which Leslie grinned broadly and said: "Your walk imitates quite well the waddle of a chubby duck but your sweet ass wriggles most deliciously". Petra stepped forward and with nary a back swing, hit Leslie over the face with an open palm that sent Leslie's glasses in a high arch onto the dirt. Leslie's face turned red and distorted with fury ... hand went into the pocket.

The director shouted: "Cut! Thass a keeper. Print it!" and then, looking at the script, in a hysterical outburst: "Come on people, set up nineteen ... Petra lay down on the ground, sweetness! Prop, makeup, where is my fake blood? Where are my cops? Scramble, scramble!"

Saint Josaphat

Saint Josaphat was kind and wise ... but he was born and named Faddei in Hradyzk, Poltava Oblast where the river Dnieper got so wide. He never knew his father and his mother was a whore so, from early on, he had to fend for himself and he grew up a mean beast and he was strong as an ox, could run like a deer and swim like a fish and if he'd had an illness (he hadn't) and needed a doctor (he didn't), it would have been surely a veterinarian and he carried very large and very sharp knifes and would rob and sometimes kill people in the forest on the way to or from market and put his gold and silver coins and jewellery under an old walnut tree in the neighbour's backyard. One evening he lay in wait and saw an old man with a bag on his back coming. Faddei jumped up and shouted "Your money or your life!" and he old man stopped and said "I am Brother Timofei from Hadiach monastery and carry money for a new church bell for St. Salvey, two villages over where people are poor and unhappy and the only time of hope and joy is at mass listening to the life of Saints and being told of their happiness in afterlife and the bell would call them to service so I will not give you the money, so I guess it is my life" and Faddei said "I guess you guess right" and put his largest and sharpest knife into the monk killing him on the spot and in the bag Faddei found many gold and silver coins and a bottle and he drunk the vodka and fell asleep and the monk appeared in his dream and said "I did many good deeds and you took my life, now you will do my good deeds!" and Faddei woke up and immediately went two villages over and at the church asked the priest if this is St. Salvey with the busted bell and do they expect Brother Timoftei from Hadiach monastery with money for a new bell and the priest told him that yes, this was St. Salvey and yes, their bell is busted but no, he does not know a Brother Timoftei and no, there is no monastery in Hadiach and so Faddei gave him the money to get a new bell and went and dug up his treasure and threw away his very large and very sharp knives and he got a donkey to carry his riches and went to Hadiach where he changed his name to Brother Josaphat and founded a monastery and learned how to heal animals for all people in the area. On November 12th, 1623 an angry mob put large and sharp knifes into Brother Josaphat (for religious reasons) killing him on the spot and he was canonized in 1867 by Pius IX and is celebrated everywhere on the first Sunday after November 12th and since 1961, also at 143 Franklin Ave. Toronto, Ontario. 

George Gallstone

George's earliest memories were older kids at the orphanage beating him. In time, George beat up younger kids himself. Nobody there knew their real name, age or birthdays ... they were just assigned these by the staff. They named him George and made his birthday April 23rd and, because Mr. Wirtz was taken to the emergency room that night, his last-name became Gallstone. They figured he was six. He grew up fast and was mean and strong but could turn on his charm when he needed to.

One night, when he felt ready, he stole the biggest knife he found in the kitchen, it had a solid black handle, and ran away. He walked North, up towards Bloor Street and robbed at knife-point the first three people he met ... he got almost a hundred bucks and two watches. It was enough to get into a boarding house at Queen and Strachan. Next day he bought himself some decent clothes. He got some cigars at a tobacconist's at Queen and Shaw where he met Amelia, a plump sad looking girl a few years older. Every night he went out mugging drunks and every day he got himself cigars chatting up Amy and her elderly parents. A month later he asked her to marry him and they were happy to accept the young, nice looking commercial traveller George Gladstone as a son in law. The dowry was the store with the small apartment above and the parents retired to Oakville where they had a little cottage. 

George ran the store well and, after a while, bought a building up on College and then another further West becoming a successful landlord. He cheated on his wife and beat her often but never left her because she was such a great cook.

One night Amelia called the police. She told them that she got home to find George dead on the kitchen floor, stabbed thru the heart. The constable looked at the huge kitchen knife with the solid black handle and concluded that it was a robbery gone bad. 

They never found out who did it. Amelia never remarried and started a soup kitchen right in time for the Great Depression of 1929.

       

Tria Chéria

All this happened years ago, at the monastery of "Saint Ignatius of Antioch" of Sokolski, about 10km from Gabrovo, near the village of Charkovo. I stood fascinated in front of the famous miracle-working icon of Maria-Tria-Chéria. An old monk was busy around the church occasionally looking over to me. I was prepared for this moment but actually seeing it so close, took my breath away. I examined it carefully inch-by-inch. It was most magnificent, a true masterpiece. 

I turned my head was surprised to find the monk standing next to me - he was in his seventies, with a full white beard and rich braid on his back from under his black toque. He held two huge yellowish wax candles, one in each hand. I bowed "Good morning, father!" He replied in good but heavily accented English: "God bless you, my son, welcome to our house. I am Father Postolin." I told him how far I came to see it and proudly showed off telling of my studies, the opinions and theories on origins and the meaning of the icon. He listened smiling and nodding and after I finished, rolled his eyes: "Son, the truth is simpler, always, or have you not heard of Father Ockham, of Ockham's Razor fame? He was a Franciscan, not of our faith, but nevertheless learned and wise. Truth is that many years ago, Father Bogumil the Blessed, greatest Icon painter of his days, who always said that one wrote icons, not painted them, he worked on this one icon here for many, many weeks and all could see it's beauty. He finished it but for the decision on Mary's hands, he was uncertain and, for now, he left all three. Thereafter which he retired to his cell to pray to God to guide him on his doubts and later he went to the cellars for the plum spirits for which the monastery was so famous. Father Bogumil the Blessed, greatest Icon painter of his days, he did like a drop or two, but that cold February night he may have had more than a drop or two and fell down on the floor where the abbot found him in the morning. Thus, with God, in His wisdom, calling to him his son, Father Bogumil the Blessed, greatest Icon painter of his days, the icon stayed untouched as you see her before you now." 

I was stunned, could not move, my mouth gaping. Father Postolin shook my hand warmly and said: "Go in peace, my son and with you shall go my blessings."